Born in England, the writer Marjorie Pickthall (1883-1922) grew up in Toronto and spent her last years writing in a small cottage on Vancouver Island. Though widely celebrated during her lifetime, her reputation took a plunge, shot down by modernist critics who disapproved of her romantic leanings. I came across her collected poems quite by accident and was immediately enthralled by their supreme craft, attractive rhythm, clarity of expression, and concision—all lyrical qualities that invite musical setting. Two of these, “Again” and “Riding”, written late in her career and published posthumously, brim with enthusiasm for time spent in solitude in the great outdoors, a distinctly Canadian value with which I strongly identify. Moreover, the speaker in both appears to be dead—or, ironically, at least nearly so. In “Again”, she yearns for communion with nature; in “Riding”, to ride a horse swiftly “between the hills and the sea”. The poems, though unrelated, share not only a similar perspective—a desire to experience anew life’s wonders—but also vocabulary: “again”, “rain”, and “O God”. I have brought the pair into direct contact by joining them seamlessly, then reprising “Again”, varied, its melody now accompanied by the galloping “riding” motive, such harmonious merging of texts the unique domain of music. –R.R.
